Saving Bucky Barnes
by TooManyDamnFangirls
Summary: Steve saved Bucky from Zola. Except he didn't. Or: the one where Bucky Barnes is suffering from nightmares and Steve is the only one who can take the pain away - or at least maybe. Set during the events of Captain America: the First Avengers. Will consist of 3 chapters. Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Angst, Romance. Rated M for 2nd chapter. Characters as always are not mine (unfortunately).
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Steve saved Bucky from Zola. Except he didn't.

There were plenty of moments in Steve Rogers' life when his gut feeling had proven to be right. Most of those times had to do with Bucky, like the one time Steve had insisted that just bluntly asking the particularly pretty blonde Bucky had been eying all evening to have sex with him would probably end in a disaster. Bucky had laughed charmingly, before smoothly making his way over to her. Steve had had to drag his best friend home that night after his suave smirk had been punched right off his face by the girl's lover, whom neither of them had noticed.

There also was this one time when Steve had warned Bucky that he had a particularly bad case of flu and that his friend should probably stay away from him. Bucky had come over anyways, bringing along chicken soup and some extra blankets. In the end, they'd both ended up with pale, sweaty, miserable looking faces, sniveling feverishly underneath the enormous pile of covers and spoon-feeding each other soup whilst trying to suppress the urge to be sick.

And of course there was the time when Steve had strongly advised against his friend ordering yet another drink because surely, this could only end badly. Bucky had just shot him the most adorably drunk smile, drawling a pleading 'Aww, just one more drink, Stevie?' before putting on that doe-eyed expression of his – and really, who could say no to that face? Of course, just the one more drink _did_ end badly with Bucky bursting out in an embarrassingly off-key ballad before throwing up all over the counter of the bar.

Turned out his gut feeling wasn't always right, though – at least not when things truly mattered.

After Steve had rescued Bucky and the other surviving POWs, he had been sure everything would go back to normal – or at least as normal as things could get during wartime after just finding out you were fighting against a genetically enhanced red-skulled jerk in your own new super-soldier body, posing as Captain America. He and his men had been hailed as heroes upon their return and thanks to Bucky, Steve was showered in praise. To be honest, Steve had just been relieved to have his best friend back at his side. After all, even when he had nothing, he still had Bucky.

Except he didn't. Not entirely at least.

Granted, during the day he seemed okay. Steve and his newly founded "Howling Commandos" as they called themselves had enough dirty jobs to do to keep their hands and heads busy. Bucky, brilliant sniper that he was, was focused as ever, taking out bad guy after bad guy with a cold intent that Steve would never have guessed could lurk behind that happy, friendly face of his. After work – he didn't know when they had started calling killing people like that, but it unnerved Steve in a way very few things still could – Bucky was joking with his fellow soldiers, enjoying a drink or two and basically having a good time for as far as that was possible during a war.

But then along came nighttime. And that was a whole different story.

The first few weeks, Steve pretended he couldn't hear Bucky's breathing become more and more labored as they lay sleeping in their shared barracks. He feigned he didn't notice the mumbled pleas, the scared but barely audible _no'_s, the incessant shifting and turning and shifting again in his sleeping bag. He even elected to ignore the times when he heard how Bucky jolted awake and upright with a choked cry, followed by the sound of muffled sobs in the dark. Steve kept telling himself that his friend was fine and that this sort of behavior was normal during the war – and maybe to some extent that might even have been true.

Only, it wasn't. Not for Bucky.

On the third night of the fourth week, Steve felt almost ashamed of himself for not speaking up when he could clearly hear Bucky's ragged breathing as if he was desperately trying to hold back the pathetic whimpers that inevitably left his lips from time to time. So he did speak up.

'Buck?' he called out softly into the darkness, feeling hesitant. The strangled breathing instantly halted. Steve listened for a few seconds, but everything remained dead silent. 'Bucky?' he said again, a bit louder now, but not too loud that he would wake Dugan who was sleeping only a few yards away from him – though he probably shouldn't be worried that much about the guy since he could easily snore his way through an earthquake.

Steve's only response now was the rustling of the extra sheets he had brought Bucky after the latter had complained about being so damn cold at night. He sighed.

'Buck, I know you're awake. And I know you've been awake every damn single night since you got back here. So please – just talk to me?'

Silence again. Then, a slight, hoarse chuckle. 'Do away with the swearin' and you sound just like one of my dames, Stevie. Always wantin' to talk. Thought I'd left that stage behind when I joined the all-male army to be honest.'

Steve sat up from his thin mattress, peering through the darkness to try to make out Bucky's shape sitting up straight in his fortress of blankets. 'Well, you didn't leave me behind, and if you don't talk to me soon, I certainly won't quit naggin' like one of your dames, you jerk.'

Soft laughter bubbled up from Bucky's throat, and now that Steve's eyes had adjusted to the darkness, helped by the faint moonlight streaming through the few small windows, he could even see the glimmer of Bucky's grinning teeth from the mattress just across from him. 'You go right ahead, Stevie. Can't wait for you to show me your dance moves, though. I always take my girls out dancin'. You should know that by now.'

Steve smiled even though it wasn't visible to Bucky in the almost pitch black barracks. 'Yeah, I know that, Buck,' he said softly. After that, it remained quiet for a while, as if they were both just content with sitting there and having to guess the other's thoughts.

'Are they nightmares?' Steve finally asked, his voice strangely eerie, bouncing off the wooden walls of the room. More rustling, indicating that Bucky was probably just shrugging half-heartedly.

'Dunno. Not really. More like, they're memories. But I guess you can safely call those "nightmares" too.'

Steve's heart sank in his chest, a coldness spreading through it that he hadn't felt in a long time after his mother had died. 'You remember then,' he said, his words no more a question than they were a statement. 'Zola. What happened there.' He frowned, chewing his words, before repeating himself, only this time he was asking: 'What happened there?'

He heard how Bucky took a deep breath before shakily releasing it again. 'Yeah. What happened there. Fuck if I know.' Steve's frown deepened at the sudden use of the expletive while Bucky took another shuddering breath. 'But I guess, yeah, I guess I remember some things. Shards, y'know. Nothin' much to go on. But enough.'

_Enough to never want to sleep again_, Steve finished Bucky's sentence silently. He was already quite certain that his friend wouldn't want to share the burden, but he asked anyways. 'What do you remember then?'

As expected, he didn't get an answer that soon this time round. It was only after a full minute had passed that Bucky finally spoke again. Steve had to strain his ears in order to hear it at all: Bucky's voice sounded small and broken and nothing like anything Steve would ever want to hear coming from his best friend's mouth. 'I don't wanna tell you.'

Truth be told, that did hurt, and probably even a bit more than it should've. But Steve understood. Of course he understood.

'Okay,' he said slowly. 'You wanna go back to sleep?'

That damn moment of silence again – but then Steve suddenly heard something he wanted even _less_ coming from Bucky, and that was a trembling sob that was squeezed from his throat, followed by a shattered 'no'.

In one swift movement, Steve rose from his mattress, taking the three big necessary steps to get to where Bucky was sitting up with his head leaning back against the cold wooden wall of the barracks. He sat down next to him, their sides pressing against each other, before pulling him in for a strong, sideway hug.

Bucky was cold, he noted, whereas Steve was now permanently warm thanks to the serum flowing through his veins. He felt how more sobs started wrecking Bucky's body as he pulled the brunette into his chest, one hand on his back and the other buried in his hair to hold him close. They sat like that for a while, Bucky's breathing slowly evening out again as his tears stopped soaking Steve's nightshirt. Steve felt awful.

'I'm so sorry, Buck,' he whispered. 'Had I been there earlier-'

'Don't you dare finish that sentence, you punk,' came the muffled reply, interrupting Steve's train of thought. 'You came. You even came, if I heard correctly and the rumors are true, specifically for _me_. So don't you go badmouthing yourself Rogers, or I swear to God, I will make you wear those downright ridiculous Captain America tights for the rest of your life.' Bucky sat up, Steve's left arm still loosely slung around him and their shoulders and sides still touching. 'Who provided you with that dumb uniform anyways?'

Steve felt a bit hurt by this. 'Don't you like it?' he asked tentatively, almost insecurely. He felt Bucky move in his grasp, his disbelieving blue eyes staring up at him, before laughing.

'Do you seriously want me to answer that question?' he asked, still chuckling a bit. His voice turned more sincere though as Steve frowned and started to move away a bit. 'Wait, I'm sorry.' Bucky grasped the arm slung around him to stop him from moving, and Steve didn't know whether it was deliberate or unconscious but Bucky had reached for his hand, squeezing his fingers. 'It's just that, ah, I dunno, Stevie. Do you really need the outfit to be a symbol for the nation?'

Steve shrugged. 'Apparently the nation thinks I do. And besides, like I said before: it's kinda grown on me.'

Bucky beamed up at him, his gaze soft and trusting even though Steve couldn't really see it. 'You never had anything to prove, y'know. I always thought of you as a symbol, with or without it.'

And to be honest, Steve didn't really know what to do with that information or with the fact that it was warming him up inside, or with how Bucky had begun playing with his fingers absentmindedly. They just sat there in silence again, before Bucky suddenly started chuckling and said: 'You remember that time when you were fightin' that Murray kid?'

Steve shot a distrusting look at Bucky. 'Yeah, and he beat me to a pulp before you even got there?' Bucky nodded just a bit too vigorously. 'That's right, yeah, that's right. Well, y'know what? Turned out he got a sister.' Steve frowned, not quite knowing where Bucky was going with this. After having drawn a content breath, Bucky sighed out happily: 'I screwed her right into the mattress two days before I was shipped out. Made sure her big brother could hear her moaning throughout the entire house. Never seen anyone get so red in the face when I got downstairs afterwards.'

There was a short pause in their conversation. Then, as if on cue, they both started choking on their restrained laughter.

'Jeez, Buck, that's-' Steve hiccupped. Bucky grinned, back to being his usual self where he was all slick smiles and mischievous winks. 'You don't gotta thank me, Stevie. Actually did me a favor too.'

They chatted for about two more hours after that, talking about their crappy home in Brooklyn and thick-headed bullies and art school, carefully avoiding the topic of the war and what had happened to Bucky. They probably would've talked all night long if an annoyed voice hadn't sounded from the other side of the barracks, kindly asking them to shut the hell up or get their own room.

With a chuckle, Steve started to disentangle himself from Bucky, who had slumped against his shoulder, eyes half closed in much needed sleep. 'C'mon, soldier. I ain't your pillow.'

He almost missed Bucky's reply because it was muffled against his own body, but his heart did a funny little jump when he just barely caught it. 'But you're so warm,' Bucky mumbled, not moving from his spot. 'And you smell like home.'

He pondered just staying there for the remainder of the night, letting Bucky sleep on his shoulder, his arms safely wrapped around the strong body of his friend who didn't look that strong at all anymore now. But he also knew it would raise questions in the morning, and both their backs would be hurting so much – and they were such stupid excuses, but Steve put distance between their bodies anyhow.

'I'm going back to my bed,' he whispered so as not to wake anyone else. He hesitated, taking in the shadows of Bucky's sleepy face as the latter sat up, blinking drowsily. 'You gonna be okay now?'

Bucky breathed sharply through his nose, a lazy smile forming on his lips. 'No,' he said, and there was no harshness or fear in his voice, just compliant resignation. 'But I can pretend I will be.'

And that right there broke Steve's heart, but he moved away nonetheless after pulling up Bucky's sleeping bag again and covering him with the spare blankets. 'Get some sleep,' he muttered, before padding over towards his own mattress again.

He didn't hear any more noises coming from Bucky's bed that night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** Steve saved Bucky from Zola. Except he didn't.

WARNING: SMUT

It sort of became some kind of ritual between the two them, though. More often than not, Bucky was suffering from the bad dreams Zola seemed to have permanently implanted in his brain, and Steve no longer pretended he couldn't hear him cry, couldn't hear the jagged utterance of Steve's name in the dark before it became a broken, distressed mantra until he quietly walked over and held him close.

And if they did share a little body heat pressed closely together inside Bucky's sleeping bag until the first light started seeping through the barracks, then Steve blamed it on the fact that Bucky was always so damn _cold_ and Steve couldn't take it, couldn't take seeing his friend shiver and suffer like he himself always used to do in a not too distant past.

And if the friendly hugs and comforting touches became a bit more than that, became caressing and fondling and stroking and gasping, ending with Bucky straining to stifle his strangled moans in his pillow as he was rocked through his release in the safety of Steve's arms, then Steve told himself that he did it for the sole purpose of giving the brunette what he so direly needed: liberation of some kind, any kind.

But if after the sweat had dried on their bodies and their breathing had gone back to normal Bucky would lean in close to Steve, resting his head on his bare chest to listen to his even heartbeat, then Steve had difficulty pulling away from him when Bucky confessed a soft, drowsy 'I love you, Steve' in a secretive whisper, and felt abhorrent for just telling him to 'Try to get some more sleep now, Buck'.

At first daylight, they were always both fast asleep in their own beds again, pretending nothing had happened and Steve trying to pretend it didn't mean anything.

During their missions, Bucky was right by his side like he always had been, carrying his gun with practiced ease, fingers steady on the trigger whenever he had to take someone out – nothing like his shivering and trembling form in the dark, the foreign look of insecurity in his eyes, the pure _anguish_ resonating from his face. No, Bucky was just Bucky, though he might sneak Steve some more smiles than he used to, might make their arms and shoulders brush against each other just a little too often to be unintentional.

But Steve kept telling himself that it was just that: unintentional. Meaningless.

But then one night, Steve was suddenly awoken by the gentle press of lips against his cheek, right next to the corner of his mouth. He flinched and quickly opened his eyes, blinking up at Bucky who he thought would be smirking but was instead just smiling down fondly at him, as if Steve was his entire world. His heart constricted a little at that thought.

'Buck? What're you-' Before he could even finish that sentence, his mouth was covered by a soft pair of lips, and a small noise of surprise died down in his throat. They'd never done this before, never let actual affection sneak into what they did late at night – or at least Steve kept telling himself that, that this was all for Bucky's sake and that their secret nighttime visits were miles apart from actually loving one another because, _God_, he couldn't even think of a reason now as to why, but it just couldn't be that Bucky told him he loved him time and time again, it was impossible that his friend was of sane mind murmuring that in his ear after their encounters, and yet-

'I love you, Steve,' Bucky mumbled against his mouth, the combination of his words and the light brushing of their lips sending a spark of electricity down Steve's spine. 'I've told you so many times now. I just wanna know… Is it mutual?'

Steve's heart skipped a beat as he did a double take, feeling as though he'd just fallen through thin ice. He didn't know what to say. Didn't even know where to _begin_. So he was silent for just a moment too long, only realizing his mistake when Bucky pulled back to put some distance between their faces.

'Goddammit, Steve,' he heard him curse, a soft whisper but forceful enough for Steve to feel a pang of guilt bloom in his chest. 'You should've told me earlier, you stupid punk. I'd never have let you do any of the stuff you did to me if I'd known that you didn't- I'd never have put you through any of that if- Fuck, I'm sorry, 'kay? I…' He trailed off, instead shaking his head over and over again as he tried to get his thoughts together. 'G'night,' was the word he eventually settled for, hushed and upset and outraged at the thought that he had been using Steve's body without his actual consent, and he started to get up.

But Steve couldn't let him go. Not like this.

He clasped a strong hand around Bucky's lower arm, tugging him down and making him lose his balance as he fell down harshly on top of Steve. Bucky's face was contorted in a frown, for as far as it was visible in the dark shadows at least, and he made a protesting noise. 'Wait,' Steve breathed in order to shut him up. 'Wait.'

He cupped Bucky's face in the hand not holding his arm, wanting nothing more than to smooth that confused frown off his brow, and tilted his chin up. 'It's mutual. Damn it, it's _more_ than mutual. I love you too, Buck. I love you. I love you.'

He felt as though he was trying to make up for all the times he hadn't responded back to Bucky's confession, trying to make up for all the _years_ spent admiring Bucky from afar but never having the guts to tell him how he felt. And Bucky was just _perfect_, looking down at him with an adorable confusion painted across his face that made Steve make up his mind as he chuckled and closed the distance between their lips, pulling Bucky even further down on top of him.

It was soft and warm and deep and sloppy and after a while their teeth started clicking together painfully from time to time, making it less than perfect but _oh so perfect_ at the same time, and Steve couldn't help the softly breathed 'Bucky' that left his red swollen lips when the brunette pulled back just a few inches.

The confusion on Bucky's face had disappeared and now he just looked like pure sunshine, fond eyes warming the cold light of the moon that highlighted his face, smiling with a happiness that Steve hadn't seen anymore since he had told his friend about him being allowed into art school.

'That's what you wanted to know?' Steve asked breathlessly, and Bucky laughed.

'Yeah. No. That's what I'd always hoped to hear from you, but even in my wildest dreams I could've never imagined it would actually happen one day.'

Steve's head spun a little. Bucky, _ladies' man Bucky Barnes_, had dreamed about him. 'You felt like this even before these last few weeks?' he asked incredulously, and Bucky frowned.

'Well, yeah. Didn't you…? Or did you just – did you just find out during our, you know? 'Cause to me, it could never've been just those swift encounters in the dark, Stevie. Hell, they meant so much more to me. But I felt like I was burning up on the inside if I didn't come clean about it to you soon, so… Yeah.'

Steve nodded. 'Yeah,' he repeated, absently stroking Bucky's five-o-clock shadow. 'Buck. I've admired you from the sidelines for so long. Not just now. Not just this. You meant everything to me even before all this. Ever since you got the crap beaten out of you by Jimmy Sanders for defending me when we were just ignorant kids.' He chuckled, Bucky joining in as they reveled in the rather painful memory, seeming so very distant now. 'I wish I could've told you sooner. But you were always out chasin' skirts, so I thought you just put up with me like you did because, I dunno, you felt like you were my big brother who needed to protect me or somethin'.'

Bucky downright snorted at that. 'A big brother who's been wantin' to fuck you into the mattress ever since he was fifteen years old,' he said sarcastically, and that sent another jolt down Steve's spine. He suddenly remembered his vice-like grip on Bucky's arm, letting go with an apologetic look because it would certainly bruise, and raised his hand to brush away some disheveled strands of hair from the other's face. His mouth went dry as he thought about what he wanted to say next, but after a second of hesitation, he finally ground out: 'If you still want to do that, then now's your big chance.'

For a minute, Bucky stayed very still, body still hovering over him, and Steve wished he could've seen the way his eyes turned dark with lust before he was grinning and attacking Steve's lips and body.

They did it as quietly as they could, using spit as slick to prepare Steve even though he insisted Bucky could just go right ahead, that he wouldn't hurt him, he never could. Bucky was careful, patient, working his fingers inside Steve's pliant body with one hand while the other one was slapped across Steve's mouth, stifling the moans that threatened to fall off his lips. When Bucky hit that particular spot inside of him, Steve bit the fingers keeping him quiet harshly, letting Bucky know that he was more than ready.

Bucky took his hand away from Steve's mouth and replaced it with a single finger pressing against his lips to caution him to keep quiet, before licking his palm and slicking himself up. Steve could barely suppress a groan at the dim sight of it, the shape of Bucky's hand moving up and down himself in the darkness. Just when he was about to ask when they were gonna get started, he felt something thick press against his entrance, and just like that, Bucky swiftly pushed all the way in.

As much as they would've wanted this to last for as long as possible, they wasted no time playing nice. They were both needy, Bucky's hips making sharp, perfectly angled movements to bury himself inside of Steve even deeper, harder, faster, and Steve's erection was leaking pre-come already, something that made Bucky chuckle as he took Steve in his hand. 'Standing at attention, soldier?' he joked quietly, shimmering grinning teeth visible in the darkness as Steve slapped him for it with his backhand.

Then Bucky's hand began stroking him in time to his deep thrusts and the combination of that and the way Bucky kept hitting all the right places inside of him made it so that it was all over far too quickly, Steve spilling hotly over Bucky's hand and his own stomach and chest as a hoarse noise left his lips. Bucky's clean hand clasped down on Steve's mouth again, muffling any further noises, as he kept rocking inside Steve's body, movements becoming more shallow and stuttered and uncoordinated now as he tossed his head back in wild abandonment. Steve's hand pushed Bucky's away from his mouth and came up to paw at Bucky's chest, shiny and sticky with perspiration.

'You can let go now too,' he whispered, his fingers finding Bucky's neck and pulling him down close, chests touching and lips only inches apart whilst Bucky never lost his feverish rhythm. 'It's okay, Buck. You don't have to be scared. I'm here. Let go.'

For a second, Steve was afraid that someone would _definitely_ have woken up by now, because the strangled howl that slipped past Bucky's lips as he did as told, his hips giving one last jerk before he released himself inside of Steve, was louder than any of the noises they'd ever made so far. It was also the most beautiful sound Steve had ever heard, though, so he didn't bother with trying to cover Bucky's mouth as he was gasping for breath, panting roughly as he finally slumped against Steve's body, not caring about the sticky mess in between their bodies. He looked wrecked.

'Fuck,' Bucky ground out at last, being the first to regain his sanity. 'That was – that was something else, Stevie.' Steve chuckled, stroking through Bucky's sweat-plastered hair. He searched for his discarded nightshirt, cleaning them both up as best as he could. They then just lay there again, holding each other, until he felt Bucky starting to squirm in his embrace.

'What's wrong?' Steve frowned, trying to look at him through the darkness. He felt his friend shrug.

'I dunno, I'm just thinkin'- before you joined us here, I always thought, "when this shitty war is all over, I'm gonna tell 'm, I'm gonna tell that punk how I feel about him", but now I'm here and you're here and we're… And it's okay, it's more than okay. But if it hadn't happened, Stevie, _God_.'

He fell silent for a second, and Steve's frown only deepened. Bucky's breathing had become troubled again, and he held him tighter as the other struggled for words.

'I stopped thinkin' I'd ever see you again when they caught me and strapped me to that table. I stopped thinkin' about ever tellin' you how I felt 'cause I knew – I knew I'd never get that chance anymore. I knew that was it. The end of the line.'

Steve felt Bucky's jaw clench against where his head was perched against his shoulder, and maybe he even felt wetness drip down his bare skin, but he opted not to tell the other. Bucky shifted and sat up, his intense gaze burning on Steve's face.

'I knew I was gonna die there, Steve. And strangely I was okay with that. The only thing that kept me fightin' for my life – the only thing that bothered me about dyin' there was knowing I'd never see you again. And for one reason or another, I couldn't stand that thought. I couldn't die. Not without you.'

Steve's heart surged, thinking back to what Bucky had screamed over the sounds of raging fire and explosions when Steve had just come to save him from that table. _Not without you._ Was this what he had meant by it?

Bucky sighed. 'I just wanna go home with you, Steve. Back to the States. Our Brooklyn. That way too small apartment. I wish I could say my home's wherever you are, but you know as well as I do that that ain't true. This is a warzone, Steve. We were never even meant to be here. This was all never meant to happen. Us soldiers… We're just the wager of some stupid fight between countries. But this war ain't our war. And this place could never, ever be my home. And the longer I stay here, the more I feel like I'll never be able to return.'

Steve frowned, nudging Bucky in the ribs in order to shake him from his depressing thoughts. 'Hey. We'll get there, okay? We'll go home as soon as this war is over. You just gotta hang in there for a little while longer, Buck. We're almost there, I promise. We're almost home.'

The way in which Bucky slowly turned his head towards him and smiled the saddest smile Steve had ever seen made him cringe inwardly. 'And that's where you're mistaken, Steve. This war… It'll never end. Not in here at least.' He tapped his temple with his index finger. 'See… They fucked me up. Bad. I don't know what they wanted to do to me while I was strapped to that table but the memories I have of it are… They're… I'm…'

He was struggling for breath, and Steve's concern only got deeper as the other nearly started hyperventilating. 'Bucky-' he started, but Bucky cut him off, his voice high-pitched and desperate.

'I could never go home, Steve! Even if I went back to Brooklyn. Even if I went back together with you and picked up the pieces of my old life again. I could never really go home after what they did to me. I'll never be home. I'll never be safe from this war. I'm past saving, Steve. I might as well be dead. And sometimes I think it's probably for the best if I was.'

Steve took in the far too earnest expression in Bucky's eyes, illuminated only by the slight sliver of moonlight cascading through one of the narrow windows. The shadows that were dancing and playing a cruel game on his features made his face look even more contorted in agony than it already was.

'Don't…' He struggled for words, finding it hard to come to terms with how Bucky, _his_ _best friend Bucky_, apparently felt about his current life. About _being alive_. 'Don't you ever say that again, Buck,' he finally rasped out, his voice strangely constricted in his throat. 'Don't you ever even dare _think_ that again. I…' _I wouldn't know what to do without you_. 'You shouldn't…' _You shouldn't talk about yourself like you don't know how much your life means to me_.

Steve swallowed and averted his gaze, grinding his teeth together. 'You should probably go try to get some more sleep now, Buck,' was all he managed to say in the end, his voice hollow. Once more his old mantra would have to make do.

He felt Bucky tense in his hold, and a cold feeling settled in his stomach. Why couldn't he just say what he wanted to say? What needed to be said in order for Bucky to actually know that- that… That Steve couldn't, didn't _want _to live without him?

But Bucky had already stood up, swift and smooth and without any noise, a monotonous 'See you in the mornin' then' his only goodbye, and Steve was left alone in his own bed with a sinking feeling that somehow, somewhere, everything had suddenly gone horribly wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary:** Steve saved Bucky from Zola. Except he didn't.

**Author's note:** I'm sorry it took so long to upload this last chapter! But like I said in the reviews, I'm actually in the middle of my exams right now so finding the time to write is a bit difficult nowadays. Anyway, this is the final chapter… I hope you enjoy!

He should've seen it coming.

Bucky's demeanor had changed after that night. There were no more hushed visits in the dark, and neither were there sounds of distress coming from Bucky's sleeping bag any longer, making Steve wonder if he actually slept at all.

Bucky had given him the cold shoulder ever since – not so much that it would be obvious to anyone else but Steve, but still the super-soldier took it to heart. Bucky's smiles, apart from becoming less frequent as well, had started to feel forced, empty, and they certainly didn't reach his eyes anymore. His skin looked paler, unhealthily so, and his eyes lay just a little deeper and darker in their sockets. Steve had tried to confront him about it, he really had, but Bucky had just shrugged it off, an almost melancholy expression on his face every time he told Steve he was just fine, 'Just like you want me to be, right?'

Steve barely remembered what sleep felt like himself, lying awake on his back every single night, waiting, almost hoping for the sound of Bucky's troubled voice quietly calling out to him.

The day Bucky became sloppy on the field as well, though, nearly getting himself killed as he made his sniping position a dead giveaway for the HYDRA agents the Commandos had tried to ambush, that was the day when Steve decided that it was enough.

One HYDRA agent had spotted Bucky's position in the midst of the chaotic fight, and to be honest, Bucky probably couldn't have been more exposed. It had made Steve wonder if he'd done it on purpose, before he had heard the agent call out to five more HYDRA henchmen to 'bringe den Scharfschütze zur Strecke!' Shoot that sniper down like an animal.

Steve's blood had run cold as he saw them running towards where Bucky was supposed to be hiding, wanting to go after them before they got the chance to reach him but finding himself unable to as he was still fending off four HYDRA accomplices himself. 'Bucky!' he had shouted, effectively knocking out one of his assailants with a single swing of his shield. 'Dum Dum! Morita! Go help him!'

'Err, would love to, Cap, but we're kinda busy here ourselves,' Dugan had yelled back at him over the deafening noise of his automatic rifle. Steve had panicked, kicking one guy in the face and sending him crashing into the second. He hadn't bothered much with the third and just plainly punched him in the face before sprinting towards where Bucky was – although Steve had hoped he'd run away after he had noticed he had been discovered. He had no such luck, though.

Bucky was lying sprawled on the muddy ground, desperately trying to reach for his rifle which lay just out of reach. Three HYDRA agents lay dead next to him with a clean bullet wound in their head or chest. The survivors were taking cruel pleasure in hurting him, though, kicking at his stomach and face and back as Bucky could do nothing but brace himself for the next impact.

Steve had wasted no time in putting an end to their torture and, per consequence, their lives.

He visited Bucky in the medical tent as soon as he got back to the base himself, having to had take care of the situation at hand first as Dugan and Morita eventually were able to drag a severely injured, only barely conscious Bucky away from the scene.

Steve's heart jumped when he first saw Bucky's face, purple and swollen with ugly cuts and bruises that would definitely take weeks to heal. The colors stood in sharp contrast to the white bed sheets that were draped across him. As he approached, Bucky slowly turned his head to face him, opening the eye that wasn't punched shut. At least he was awake.

'Steve,' Bucky smiled weakly, almost disbelievingly, and it brought back memories of when Steve had first saved him from Zola, making his stomach churn.

'Bucky,' he said, his voice conveying more relief than he actually felt. He frowned when Bucky tried to reposition himself so he was sitting upright. 'No, stay down. I was told they're gonna have to stitch up your left side, so you'd better not move too much until that's been done.'

Bucky just shrugged, his expression contorted in pain as he straightened himself a bit anyway. 'I can handle it. I don't need no stitches, Steve. Gimme a couple a days an' I'll be right as rain again, you'll see.' He smiled again, but Steve's frown only deepened.

'Did they give you something against the pain already?' he asked, concerned about how his friend's voice slurred around the edges.

'As a matter of fact, he refused all analgesics and anesthetics,' a gentle but firm voice sounded from behind him. Steve turned around to face the field doctor and nodded at him. 'Doctor. Thank you for coming.'

'Captain. Sergeant Barnes. I would say that I'm pleased to see you, but the circumstances could probably have been a bit better. The diagnosis isn't very pretty: a deep flesh wound to the left side that needs stitches, two broken fingers that have to be set again, a slight concussion, a couple of cracked ribs, a badly sprained ankle, and then I'm just ignoring the shallow injuries to the rest of the body. You're lucky you don't have any signs of internal bleeding, Sergeant, otherwise you wouldn't have survived. Maybe the same stubbornness that makes you keep saying no to analgesics is what's kept you alive.'

Steve looked at Bucky again, who seemed to be on a high from just the pain he was experiencing at the moment alone, smiling vaguely at the two men standing next to his bed, his eyes clouded and out of focus.

'What do you mean he doesn't want any painkillers?' he asked the doctor as Bucky winced, trying to turn to his side. 'Don't you see he's hurt?'

The doctor sighed, giving Steve a stern look. Steve mentally gave the man some credit for even daring to go up against him. 'It's my daily job to see where and how badly people are hurt, so yes, I do see it, thank you. But I'm afraid your friend was very clear on the matter: he doesn't want to have anything administered to him. I tried to, believe me, but he just started squirming and putting up a fight which would only make his wounds worse. And as it is also my job to see what's in your friend's best interest right now, I believe we are better off leaving it at that and dressing his wounds without numbing him first.'

Steve's eyes had never left Bucky's bruised and battered face. He didn't even want to think about what the rest of his body looked like underneath the thin sheets. Bucky's eyes threatened to drift shut multiple times, but he always managed to snap out of it right before passing out. Steve set his jaw. 'Let me talk to him for a minute,' he said softly. 'I'll try to make him come round.'

The doctor's gaze shifted from Steve to Bucky and then back to Steve, wary and alert, before nodding. 'Alright. See what you can do, Captain. I sure do hope he'll listen to you.'

As the doctor disappeared to tend to his other patients again, Steve gingerly shook Bucky's shoulder, awkwardly trying to avoid touching him in places that hurt. Apparently, such places did not exist as Bucky let out a quiet hiss, squeezing his eyes shut.

'Hey,' Steve started gently. 'Buck. Hey. You with me?'

'Till the end of the line, pal,' Bucky muttered, his voice sounding drowsy.

A pang of pain and regret surged through Steve upon hearing that as the simple remark hit home harder than he could've imagined. He swallowed, trying to remain composed. 'Yeah,' he nodded. 'I know that. But Buck – why would you refuse painkillers? You must ache all over, don't you?'

Bucky chuckled, the action alone causing him to grimace once again. 'I do. But I told you before, I'll be fine. I'll be fine and then I'll go home with you, just like you said. Just a lil' while longer. I just… Gotta hang in there. I'm almost- almost there.'

Steve just felt pure agony now and he knew his expression betrayed it, judging from Bucky's languid smile. 'Steve. Don't worry so much. I'm gonna get patched up again, I promise. I just don't want them to numb my senses with some injection or another. That would just be- That's- That'd be…'

Steve's frown returned to his face when he saw Bucky's expression change to an alarmed state. He looked and sounded the same as when he had panicked about what had happened to him while he had been in Zola's hands. Could it be…?

'Bucky. I know you don't wanna talk about it, but you gotta tell me. What happened to you there? What did they do to you? What happened with Zola?'

The white of Bucky's good eye became red and watery and Steve wasn't sure whether it was with anger or anguish, but he seemed determined to not let any tears spill. 'They… They _used _me, Steve. Shot me up with whatever it was multiple times a day, seeing how I reacted. They strapped me down and experimented on me like some kind of animal, runnin' all sorts of tests. They-' Bucky swallowed, noticeably shaken. 'They shocked me. Put all kinds of cables on me, then turned up the voltage. Can't remember anythin' after that, just that I woke up in another room. But the worst thing is that- that I think I wasn't even sleepin'. When I came to I was unstrapped and I was _standing_, Steve. Though I wasn't there, my body had still been conscious all the time. Maybe they made me do stuff. D'you think they could do that? I don't know. I don't know. I don't-'

Bucky's last word ended in a sob and he turned his face away from Steve, who just stood there horrified. If it wasn't for the serum, Steve was sure he would've thrown up. He'd been mentally prepared for a lot of things, but this… This was just too much. It all finally came crashing down on him now. Why Bucky couldn't, didn't _want_ to sleep. Why he didn't want any injections, didn't want anyone to anesthetize him. Why he would never be safe from this war – the war in his head. Why he could never go home again.

Steve felt abhorrent, even more so now, for not being able to rescue him sooner that time. He wished he could hold him close and never let go of him again. He wished he could kiss him. Kiss it all better. But he couldn't. Not here, not now. Probably never.

'Buck, I'm so-' A light chuckle and a faint wave of Bucky's hand – bloodied and bandaged, his pinky and ring finger bound tightly together – interrupted the stream of apologies that had been about to fall from Steve's lips.

'If you dare say you're sorry for not comin' for me sooner again, God help me, Steve, the first thing I'll do when I get out of here is kick you in the ass for it. Blue tights or not.' The smirk on Bucky's face looked more genuine than any of his smiles in the past few months, and Steve just couldn't grasp why. 'Just make sure they don't start proddin' me with needles again or whatsoever and that's all you owe me. I ain't no damsel in distress, Stevie. I handled whatever it was they were tryin' to do to me there and came back from it to live another day. I'm sure I'll be able to handle some more pain and stitches without anesthetics or painkillers as well, trust me.'

But that was the thing. Steve didn't trust him on that one.

He pulled a chair closer to the bed and leaned in so no-one would overhear them. 'I saw what you did though, Buck.' Now it was Bucky's turn to frown incomprehensively. 'What I did?' he asked. 'You mean getting my ass kicked?' He chuckled, but Steve's expression remained stern. 'Exactly,' Steve replied slowly. 'That's what you did. But that's not it. The point is, you did it on purpose, didn't you?'

The silence that ensued from his question was deafening. Bucky's breathing hitched, then evened out as he averted his gaze from Steve. 'I'll take that as a yes,' Steve muttered, clenching his jaw. 'You jerk – what were you even _thinking_?!'

Bucky's head snapped back angrily to face him again, eyes burning ferociously. 'That's the whole point, Steve! I wasn't thinking! I didn't wanna think anymore! So yeah, maybe I slipped up, and maybe I kinda wanted to. Or no, it's not even that I really _wanted_ to, it's just – I don't care, Stevie! I don't care anymore whether I'm alive or dead. I told you before that it's probably for the best if I were dead, and if I'm honest with you: I'm tired of fightin' for my life. I'm just gonna let things happen the way they happen and we'll see if I make it out alive or not. I'm done tryin' to defy fate any longer.'

'That doesn't mean that you deliberately have to _tempt_ it!'

'Steve, c'mon, leave me be. It's my choice.'

'Your choice? _Your _choice? My best friend tells me he doesn't mind getting himself killed and you think you can call that just _your_ choice?'

'It _is_ my choice, Steve! It's my life! And I'm telling you I don't care anymore!'

'But _I DO_!'

Steve's frustrated shout was loud enough to turn multiple heads towards them and he quickly looked down at the ground with burning cheeks, feeling embarrassed for yelling in a serene place like the medical tent. He missed the way in which Bucky's eyes widened, shock apparent on his face.

'I'm sorry.' Steve looked up at Bucky again upon hearing those softly uttered words. Bucky seemed sincere, a tender expression on his face. 'I shouldn't have said that. Hell, I shouldn't be _feeling_ that way. But I can't help it. And I'm sorry for that. I'm so sorry, Steve. I just wasn't thinkin' again, disregarding your opinion.'

Steve's gaze softened and he carefully stroked through Bucky's dirty, blood-crusted hair once. 'You're right though. It _is _your life. I'd just hoped you'd care for it as much as I do.'

Bucky blinked slowly, thoughtfully. 'Do you really care that much about my life? About me being alive?' he finally asked, his voice a mere whisper that sounded like it could break any time. For what must've been the first time in his life, Bucky actually sounded insecure. Steve smiled warmly.

'I really do care that much about _you_, yes,' he said, his smile growing broader as he saw the look in Bucky's eyes. 'Buck – how could you not know that? You were the only one who was always there for me from the beginning. All those times you could've walked out on me, looking for a better prospect in life than living with a skinny, sickly little guy – you never did. All those winters where I got so ill a breath of wind could kill me, all the times I couldn't go to work so you decided to run double shifts so you could give half of your money to me, all those days you spent watching over me and protecting me from the bullies I thought I had on the ropes – all those times, you stuck right with me till the end of the line. How could I not care so deeply about the only person who's never given up on me?'

Bucky was silent, staring up at Steve. Then, he averted his gaze, looking blankly ahead before turning to face the ceiling. Steve didn't know whether to be concerned or whether this was a good sign, meaning that Bucky had got the message.

'Buck?' he asked carefully, and his doubts cleared like clouds from the sky when he saw a warm, genuine smile form on Bucky's lips. 'You always were such a punk,' Bucky muttered good-naturedly, and Steve laughed. Then, Bucky became serious again.

'I'll live,' he mumbled. 'But I'll live for you, Steve. Because you want me to. And because that means a whole lot to me.' Steve nodded, caught between feeling pleased that Bucky would hopefully try to be less careless with his life and feeling disappointed that Bucky only wanted to do it for Steve, not for himself. 'But you gotta promise me somethin'.'

Steve bit his tongue. He should've known there would be a catch to it. 'Anythin' you want, Buck,' he lied, a hollow feeling settling in his chest already. Whatever it was Bucky was going to ask of him, it wasn't going to be nice.

'If things do go wrong – don't blame yourself. If I go down, don't go down with me. Don't follow me where you shouldn't come. You can't save everyone, Steve. So don't go beatin' yourself up if you can't save me, 'cause it'll be my own decision. Don't take that choice away from me.'

Silence again. Steve felt cold. It had been months since he'd last felt cold, but he felt it anyway. The gravity of Bucky's words weighed him down, the utter seriousness of them making him believe he'd already lost his friend – again. He worked his jaw, staring at a fixed point on the ground.

He was Captain America. He was the symbol of the nation. He wore a ridiculously tight costume in the colors of the star-spangled banner and still people respected him, looked up to him. He couldn't let a fellow soldier down, couldn't just _not _try to save someone. He was Captain America, and he couldn't just agree with leaving someone in the cruel hands of fate while he had the power to turn things around.

But most of all, he was Steve Rogers, the skinny guy from Brooklyn, and he couldn't let his best friend down. Couldn't just let Bucky go. Couldn't let the only person he had ever truly loved and who loved him back just as much die without trying everything in his power to prevent that from happening.

But he also couldn't betray his trust. Bucky was asking him this in complete sincerity, needing Steve's affirmation on the matter. And although Steve desperately wanted him to live, to fight for his life, he knew he couldn't make Bucky want the same – and he wouldn't, because Bucky was his best friend, his best partner, his best everything. He mattered too much to not grant him his wish.

'Steve?' came Bucky's voice, faint in his ears. 'You gotta promise.'

With a dead weight on his stomach, Steve swallowed and looked up again. 'Alright,' he said, his voice hoarser than before. 'I promise.'

Bucky smiled softly, mouthing a barely audible 'thank you', before the doctor returned to his bed, announcing that they really had to take a look at that flesh wound now and stitch it up. To Steve's great surprise, Bucky actually consented to being put under, on the condition that Steve remained right there with him.

As Steve watched Bucky slowly drift to sleep under the influence of the anesthetics the doctor had administered to him in order to stitch him up, he wondered how much longer he would still be able to remain right there with him.

Unfortunately, it didn't take too long for him to find out.

He should probably have seen this coming, too.

Steve knew he would never be able to unhear the heartbreaking cry that had been torn from Bucky's throat as he fell into the white depths below. He would never be able to unsee the way in which the railing Bucky was hanging onto slowly started to give away while Steve stretched out his hand towards him as far as he could.

He would also never be able to believe that Bucky had tried his hardest in reaching out for him, too.

In the weeks that followed, Steve had replayed those fateful events in his head time and time again, each time coming up with a different explanation to try and soothe his conscience. How Bucky had still been hurt at the time – he must've been, no-one could recover from the injuries he had in just three weeks' time, right? His fingers must've hurt like hell – the fingers of the hand that were holding onto the railing. And then he wasn't even considering his left side yet, how that newly formed scar must've been stretched to the limit, aching and burning. It had probably been physically impossible to do anything but try to hold on to that railing-

And yet no matter how many times Steve tried to tell himself that it had been an accident, he couldn't stop thinking that this had been the choice Bucky had been talking about. Bucky's own decision.

Yes, he should've seen it coming. And yet he had not in the least been prepared for the pure torment Bucky's death would cause him. Because how could he ever be prepared for the death of his best friend?

_You can't save everyone, Steve. So don't go beatin' yourself up if you can't save me._ He had a promise to keep – but he was unable to.

He was on a plane full of weapons of mass destruction that could cause the death of millions of people, and yet he only thought about one person.

_If I go down, don't go down with me. Don't follow me where you shouldn't come. _But why shouldn't he?

He called Peggy, looked at her picture in his compass – the compass that had been a gift from Bucky a month after Steve had rescued him. It had always been Bucky.

'Peggy,' he said, swallowing bravely. 'This is my choice.' Just like it had been Bucky's choice.

_I just wanna go home with you, Steve. And the longer I stay here, the more I feel like I'll never be able to return. _This was it, the end of the line.

His last thought before he crashed into the freezing ice and water was not one of fear of dying, but of dancing the way he'd seen Bucky do with so many dames back in a shady bar in Brooklyn. Their Brooklyn. Their home. Their way too small apartment.

His Bucky.

Finally they were both home.

~ FIN ~

**Author's note:** That's it, guys! Thank you so much for reading this story! If you liked it, you can always leave a review – it would make me really, really happy! On another note, I did actually like the concept of this story myself so it's a bit hard for me to call it an end, too… So if you'd like, I could perhaps write an epilogue…? Feel free to leave your thoughts on that in a review! Thanks once again!


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